Case File Origins: Dahlia Hawthorne
by Sporadicx
Summary: "Her fate was sealed the moment she was born. As was yours."
1. Prologue: Case File

Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth entered his office to find scrap paper on his polished desk. He suspected Gumshoe. He never understood Edgeworth's compulsion to keep his office immaculate. His room smelled of cleaner and tea, from the maid and the bellboy respectively. His suit, framed from his first case, didn't have a speck of dust left. With the rug freshly vacuumed, and the floors shined, the note didn't exactly blend in with the surroundings He sat down and began to crumple the paper, but a familiar scrawl jutted out at the edges.

_Wright._

He smoothed out the paper, grumbling. The least he could have done was use a memo pad, where he was more likely to read it. This was torn from a notebook. And why was this in his _office _in the first place?

_Morgan Fey is being transferred across the country. And Iris is being released. Both on December 15__th__. Thought you should know._

_ -Wright_

Edgeworth dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number.

His secretary answered. "Sir?"

"Cancel all my appointments for the day," he said.

"Right away, sir."

He crumpled the note in a ball and tossed it in the trash receptacle as he left the office. The DL-6 incident ended seven years ago. Everyone involved was either dead, or simply gone. Especially in Wright's case, but Edgeworth had to shove that thought aside. These two women were the exception, but their connection was so subtle.

And of course, just as his framed suit did every day, he was reminded of Dahlia Hawthorne.

It wasn't like him to not recall going down the stairs and into the half empty Prosecutor's Block. He wasn't even sure if he should be driving. It helped that the road was so empty; not many people were headed to the Borsche Bowl Club at four in the afternoon.

When he pulled into the parking lot, he got a lot of funny looks. People on the ragged end of life took drags from cigarettes, others sat in trucks that billowed diesel smoke. In his sports car, 'garish' some people called them, he stood out far too much. This is why he never came here to visit. He would probably get keyed.

Thankfully, once inside, he knew where to go. The piano sang clumsy notes as he stepped around large banquet tables, mostly empty. The dark décor and lighting added an air of mystery that he knew was just an illusion. Any attention the patrons had remained on the piano, not because it was any good, but because there was nothing else that warranted it. He pulled a chair at the table closest to the large instrument and waited.

Wright raised one finger, even though he was still playing. The melody stuttered. Edgeworth nodded and leaned back into his chair. The sound filled out again, and Edgeworth closed his eyes in thought.

When Wright finished playing, no one protested as the notes ceased. Edgeworth opened his eyes to see his old colleague sitting in front of him.

"Edgeworth." Wright rested the back of his head in his hands, elbows sticking out side to side. "It's been a while. You look good."

"You don't," Edgeworth said bluntly.

Wright chuckled. His beanie shifted. "To the point, as ever."

Edgeworth no longer flinched looking at his friend's stubble, dirty clothes, and the obnoxious beanie. But he always felt a pang in his chest.

"How did you get into my office?"

Wright barked a laugh. "Seriously? That's what you have to say to me?"

"Yes," Edgeworth shot back. A waiter approached, but he waved him away. "You'd be in a world of trouble if you were caught in the A block. What is wrong with you?"

Wright rolled his eyes. "I didn't step foot in your office. I sent Gumshoe instead."

Edgeworth deflated. "I see."

The waiter made one more round. Wright ordered grape juice before Edgeworth could say anything. He relented and ordered the same.

"Okay, I'll bite," Edgeworth said once the waiter was out of earshot. "Why would I care about two accomplices of murder?"

Wright gave him a side-eye. "The DL-6 Incident," he said slowly. "They're the only ones left from it all."

Edgeworth quelled the feeling of agreement. "They had nothing to do with it."

Wright smiled. "Didn't they?"

"They're only involved because of that spirit medium." The words '_spirit medium' _still soured Edgeworth's tongue.

"It didn't just ruin your life, remember?"

The waiter brought their drinks. Edgeworth took a single sip, considering. Even if it was DL-6 related, so what? The case was solved just about a decade before. But...

"Are you going to see Iris? After she's released?"

Wright paused. He took one massive gulp of grape juice.

"Probably not."

"Why not?"

Wright just shook his head.

He understood.

Edgeworth didn't stay for much longer, and he left behind an almost full cup. He would never admit it to Wright, but he couldn't stand the sight of his friend like this. Iris wouldn't be able to either, and he wondered if that was the reason he wouldn't see her.

He wondered if Dahlia Hawthorne could see Wright now, she would consider this a victory.

The thought drove Edgeworth back to town, but this time, to the police department. No one asked questions as he pushed past the detectives' desks. Almost all of them were different faces than the ones back then, with only a few loyal ones left. Like Gumshoe. And Ema's presence was a given. No one asked questions as he made his way to the records room, as was his right.

He coughed as he opened the door, dust billowing in his face. Shelves were crammed so full of case files that the manila folders began to crease, the papers dirtying if they stuck out at all. He understood that the Chief of Police and his officers had begun to digitize the room, but it would take time. An entire shelf was missing its files, thankfully more recent ones. The one he was looking for was far from recent.

He knew exactly where the files on Dahlia, Iris, Misty Fey, and Morgan Fey were located. They all sat on the same shelf, due to their relation in both blood and the cases they were involved in. His stomach still recoiled at the name Misty Fey. He avoided her file, which was immense, and looked at the others. Dahlia was the largest of all of them, and he found himself pulling the file anyway.

Iris's words echoed in his head: _"I think the incident is the result of immense spiritual power that was unleashed."_

And then Phoenix's shortly before he was disbarred: _"The pain the Fey bloodline causes is often unbearable."_

Dahlia's file tripled in size since he last looked at it.

Iris promised after the conclusion of Misty Fey's murder that she would tell all: everything that she could about her sister and the lives the two of them led. Edgeworth advised her that the truth could serve as penance, and all the time at the monastery wouldn't equal its worth. She took his words to heart. After the emotional scene between her and Wright, she took to the pen and must have told every single painful, stifled detail. Edgeworth continued to look at interviewee names: Mia Fey. Maya Fey, even though she scarcely knew her cousin. Even Morgan Fey and Dahlia's father were contacted. He doubted they said anything of much value, but regardless, Dahlia's entire life – or what was left of it – was contained in these pages.

And yet he didn't know a word of it.

_The truth will set you free._

Ironic, then, that almost a decade after Dahlia's death he still didn't know what made her. Even with the file in his hands, he was reluctant to go any further.

But Morgan Fey was to be relocated, and Iris released. If there was a time to learn...

With great foreboding, Edgeworth found a chair. This had to be a bad idea, opening old wounds. He still saw Terry Fawles and the spray of blood slumped over the witness stand behind his eyelids sometimes, but he also saw his comrade playing the piano, somewhere he didn't belong. He opened the file, started at the very beginning, in the year 1993 in Kurain Village.

And he began to read.

* * *

TBC

_Still working on Murphy's Law, just wanted to try something different. :)_


	2. Chapter 1: Fury

The world was too slow.

On chubby, four-year-old legs, Dahlia scowled when she walked. Her sister, Iris, seemed to be content sitting on couches and kicking out her feet, or taking her time across padded floors. Not Dahlia. Dahlia needed to be moving at all times, even though just that frustrated her.

She wanted to reach her mother's fancy fountain pen. It peeked out from under a scroll she was working on, and at the very edge of the high table. Her mom always fussed over that pen and therefore Dahlia wanted it in her hands. But her head only came halfway up to the table, and even stretched up on her tiptoes with fingers splayed like the sausage she was only occasionally allowed for breakfast, she couldn't reach.

Iris was in the same room, but said nothing. Dahlia looked behind her shoulder, lip curling. Her sister was in the corner as her mother instructed, hands folded behind her. Always the good girl.

Dahlia pulled at one of the chairs. It was heavy. It grunted along the wood flooring, in a way that sounded like her dad's old dog before her mother insisted on getting rid of it.

That got Iris's attention.

"Lia, what are you doing?"

"Nothing," she said, snapping the second syllable. "Go away, Iris."

She always preferred the meditating and channeling rooms, as well as where the guests slept. Dahlia liked to kick the cushions, and try to make noises on the tatami mats. Her sister always tried to stop her, but it really just made Dahlia do it more. But her mother never let her in those rooms alone or with Iris anymore.

"At least you can't make a mess in the waiting room," she told Dahlia once.

Dahlia squeaked the chair over, but stopped when she heard a loud voice.

"We never hear you talking about them, Mystic Morgan!"

Dahlia knew when someone was talking about her and Iris. Their names were often 'they them theirs." And she just knew, it was a heavy feeling in the back of her skull and it made her stand straighter than normal, and her skin felt not quite attached.

"It is always a blessing to have a daughter," the woman trilled. "But two!"

Dahlia looked at Iris. Her sister was okay, when she wasn't telling Dahlia what to do or complaining or saying they were going to get in so much trouble. But Dahlia met the other girls, the ones who were supposed to be tested for training, and she couldn't see why two of them or more than that were any good at all.

She heard her mother sniff. "That remains to be seen."

Dahlia's chest began to ache. She bumped the chair, and it hardly moved.

"Lia," Iris whispered again, and Dahlia wanted to yell at her to say her name right. "Stop it, you'll get in trouble."

"Misty's daughter is quite the sight as well. She's nine, right? And showing signs?"

"She will be branch family," Morgan snapped. "It doesn't matter if her daughter is showing signs."

"Yes, but we must take strength where we can. With the Master being as ill as she is..."

Her mother didn't reply. Dahlia waited for her to say something about her and Iris, how they had potential. She knew that especially with Iris, a lot of people stopped and looked. She often walked in front of her sister because Iris didn't know what to do with the attention. Dahlia scowled at anyone who looked too closely.

"There's not much that can be done," Morgan said at last.

Dahlia walked backwards and rocked on her heels, putting all of her weight on her toes. She rushed forward, and crashed into the chair. The chair crashed into the table, jostling the scroll, and the pen slipped and fell towards her waiting hands. Ink smudged on her fingertips. She locked eyes with her sister, who flushed and made herself as small in the corner as possible.

"Dahlia, what was that?" Her mother seemed to materialize in front of her, the other woman close behind.

"Nothing," Dahlia said. She made the pen invisible with her hands.

But her mother knew everything. "Give it here."

These moments of rebellion didn't come along often for Dahlia, and she stared at her mother from underneath her eyelashes instead of responding.

"Dahlia." Morgan pitched her voice low, in a way that smoothed over Dahlia's skin like silk. She knew better than to believe her mother's tone, but her grip on the pen loosened.

Morgan knelt down to Dahlia's height and plucked the pen out of her hands. "Minerva," she called over her shoulder. "Please take Iris home."

"Yes, Mystic Morgan."

Iris got up from her corner, and the two left. Only then did Morgan's shoulders slump. Dahlia couldn't remember ever seeing her mother tired, or anything but invincible, and she momentarily forgot her defiance.

"What am I going to do with you?" Morgan murmured.

Dahlia blinked. Her mother never whispered. Her wrath followed her like a cloak, or gathered like the calm before a brewing storm. This was different. This Mother now scared her more than any punishment.

"I'm sorry."

Morgan's eyes flashed. "Are you?"

Dahlia looked away.

Her mother straightened. "Come."

Dahlia started. All the other times she was in trouble, she was to wait in one of the spare rooms of the manor for the disciplinarian. Morgan never did it herself, said the lesson couldn't be learned as well if she was the one doing it. Her mother marched her there without a word between them. Iris had only been once, and she wouldn't stop crying the entire night. It worked on her; it never happened again. Dahlia stopped counting how many times she had gone.

It just didn't work. She never told Morgan this, fearing she would just find something worse. But it didn't. The fury within her just kept burning. It never went away. She wondered if she got it from her mother. This pit of fire that made its home in her belly, that could be fed but not extinguished.

There were some nights it even kept Dahlia up at night, left her stewing in bed and staring at the ceiling. Iris could always tell, somehow. Her sister often walked the distance between their beds and put a cool hand on whatever part of Dahlia was nearest: an arm, her side, her face. During the day, Dahlia tended to shove her away, but at night, it was the only thing that made her fury fade. So she let Iris do it.

"Dahlia, don't lag behind," Morgan snapped, and Dahlia started. She narrowed her eyes, tried to concentrate, but she tripped over own stupid feet.

With a sigh, Morgan stopped until Dahlia caught up, and then lifted her onto her hip. Dahlia didn't fidget until her mother opened the screen door, letting the sun's full force into the manor.

"It's too bright, Mother."

"Enough complaining."

The children of the village gathered in the middle of the dirt roads, their studies concluded. The colors of the village dulled in comparison. Dahlia and Iris were never permitted to play with them, and Iris often settled for looking at them from their bedroom window. If Dahlia wasn't The children sat in the dirt to play with marbles, or ran around for tag, or played some sort of guessing game. One child never sat in the dirt, and seemed to see everything that happened around her. Her playmates rotated around her like the earth with the sun.

Mia Fey.

At nine years old, she was hardly the oldest of the children, but she stood taller than any of them. Dahlia remembered Morgan talking about her, saying she was tall for even her age, gawky and awkward with her long limbs. Dahlia saw none of that. She saw a straight back, deep eyes, and a knowing expression. Dahlia knew that Mia had no idea who she was, her mother kept her children out of the eyes of the village as much as possible. She knew, though. It was impossible not to.

She walked like a princess. Dahlia's mother had a younger sister, and that was Mia's mother, and they held the village in their hands. While Dahlia and Iris were secluded in their household, Mia and Misty Fey had a power that Dahlia knew didn't belong. It was supposed to be theirs. Morgan said so. Her mother said it was all a waiting game, that they were biding their time, but Dahlia wasn't stupid. Even at four years old, she knew the truth. Iris sat in her circles, played games, and wrote her lessons, but Dahlia chose her learning from the outside.

She knew that the village tested the girls on something outside academics. She knew because no one could shut up about it when the time came each year. Apparently it was just once, one day out of the whole year, and the girls chosen to be tested had to be special. Daughters of the main family were special. Their relatives were special. Dahlia knew that Mia had been chosen because of what Morgan said about Dahlia's grandmother, that she would be gone soon.

Mia's test was a few days ago, when the sun began to set and the magic of the world hummed in color. Morgan had already gone, but the girls' father took the rare opportunity to make rules.

"Do not go the channeling room," he barked at them when they strayed to the kitchen to fetch supper. The TV blared in the living room, and he sat in a tiny rocking chair that Morgan hated. The kitchen only had curtains to separate it from the living room, and he always wanted them open. With the hardwood floor freshly waxed, Iris and Dahlia held their plates close to their bodies. Of course, their father offered no help. His back faced the sisters, but it always felt like he glared at them no matter the angle.

"Why not?" Dahlia promptly retorted.

"Don't ask stupid questions."

Iris flinched, but Dahlia opened the fridge and took a strawberry dessert instead of dinner. She didn't touch the tea. She marched to the neighboring room, where the sisters slept. The Fey Manor was massive, and so was their space. It felt like they lived in their own home, not where several homes met in one building.

"You're going to go, aren't you?" she heard Iris from behind her.

"Not so loud," Dahlia hissed.

But then she noticed that Iris' dinner plate was twice the size as normal, more than she could possibly eat by herself. That was the thing about Iris. She was brave as long as no adults looked in the same direction.

"I'll save you some," Iris said.

Dahlia managed a smile. "Thanks."

When Morgan was home, she always wanted the family to sit together at the dining room table. Their father wanted very little to do with the two of them when she wasn't. He spent all of his time in front of the TV or out of the house. It was probably because Morgan owned him as long she was around. But Morgan was gone, so Iris shut the door to their bedroom. Dahlia turned around and stuffed the rest of her dessert into her mouth. Her fingers stuck together from the whipped cream.

If she was very, very quiet, she could get through the front door without her father noticing. She wobbled across the carpet in her bare feet, using the static from the TV as background noise. The living room was decorated in Morgan's style, with just the rocking chair, pale carpet, and a small stand with the television. It meant there was less for Dahlia to run into.

She had to reach on her tiptoes to reach for the door handle. It gave, to her relief. She slipped into one of the winding ways and headed to the channeling room. She knew it by heart. When she crossed through the guest rooms and then into the winding way where she found the urn and the garden, she was close.

Dahlia heard voices before she stepped into the waiting room.

"She did it! She has the power!"

"Are you really surprised?"

Dahlia hid by a potted plant in the corner. The heavy door of the channeling room was left ajar. The air weighed down on her shoulders and made her giddy at the same time. She made sure to find as many shadows as possible. She knew she couldn't be seen.

The door swung open with unnatural force, hitting the wall. Morgan stormed past, disappearing into the Winding Way. Dahlia hesitated, wondering if she should go back. She knew she would be in a world of trouble if Morgan went home and found out she wasn't in bed.

But she got this far. She stuck her fingertips into her mouth and waited.

No one seemed to notice Morgan's departure, even with the bang. Women left in pairs out of the double doors, talking with each other. Misty Fey was the last to leave. Dahlia never understood why Misty never looked like her mother, not like how Dahlia looked like Iris, but they were never particularly close. Dahlia never saw them talking, anyway.

"Mia," Misty called. "Don't be long."

"I won't!"

Misty hesitated in the doorway, then turned and walked back inside. Dahlia couldn't make out their muffled voices, but she didn't dare move from her hiding spot. She didn't need to worry, because Misty left not long after.

She bolted to the open door and peeked around the door. Mia was inside, past the tatami, near the altar. Something glowed in the middle, and it took Dahlia several angles to realize it was a magatama.

Mia waited for it to stop glowing, and the room depended on the faint glow of candles again. Then she touched it.

The green glow blinded Dahlia, and she was on the other side of the room, outside of it. She watched Mia put her fingers on her cheeks. She let out a giddy squeal and started to run outside. Dahlia stumbled in trying to get away, but Mia tore through the door and left without noticing.

She was going to get in _so _much trouble. She didn't even close the doors properly.

Dahlia slunk inside. She approached the altar, but with short legs, it took too long. Her confidence faltered. It still let off a faint light, so she waited for it to turn the dull gray she knew a dormant one was supposed to be.

She wanted to leave, forget she ever had this idea, but curiosity kept her rooted. The magatama faded, and she touched it.

Nothing happened.

She touched it again, and the same result. She had no idea what it meant, but she knew it wasn't good. She remembered her mother storming out, when Mia made the magatama glow, and Dahlia ran out of the channeling room much the same way as her cousin

She managed to get home and inside without anyone noticing, because Morgan had gone straight to bed without saying goodnight to Iris or her husband. Iris had managed to unlock the door for her with the help of a chair.

That night, Dahlia lay awake staring at the ceiling. The ball of rage burned inside her in a way that left her unable to be comfortable. The sheets twisted around her feet as she thrashed. Iris's usual ritual did nothing for her this time, and Dahlia spent a lot of frustrating time flat on her back until she felt the bed move.

Iris climbed into bed next to her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

Iris threw an arm over her and pressed her face into Dahlia's shoulder.

"Iris?"

"Giving you peace," Iris replied, like it was obvious.

Dahlia snorted. "What does that even mean?"

"The monks," Iris said. "They told us that's why we sit. Inner peace."

Dahlia hated sitting. She hated doing anything in her stupid home, except reading. But she didn't tell Iris that.

By the light of the moon, Dahlia saw her sister's dark hair fan over the bed. Iris took her hand, and Dahlia didn't fight her.

"Peace," Iris repeated, and Dahlia's eyes fluttered closed. She couldn't understand her sister, but sleep claimed her without much of a fight that night.

Dahlia and Morgan crossed the street. Dahlia stared at her older cousin, but she never looked back at her. The thing inside her fumed.

"What are we doing with Mystic Mia?" Dahlia asked.

Morgan turned her nose to the air and sniffed. "Who said anything about Mystic Mia? No, never mind her. Look further, my sweet."

Dahlia never did well when it was so bright out. With her fair skin and huge eyes, the world split into tiny stars that changed colors. But she did as she was asked, and she could just make out Iris and what-was-her-name.

"So what?" Dahlia asked.

"Keep watching."

For once, Dahlia did as she was told.

They weren't headed towards the manor, she realized. Instead, Iris led the way towards a group of children with bottle caps.

"She's not allowed," Dahlia protested.

"She's not," Morgan agreed. "I will be having a chat with Minerva after this. But look at your sister."

Iris tugged on Minerva's skirt. She said something Dahlia couldn't hear. But she did see how her lips curved up in a soft smile, bringing her eyes in the same shape, and Minerva reached down to take her hand. Iris led the way to the group of children.

Their chattering drowned Iris out at first. Iris looked to Minerva for encouragement, and the older woman nodded. Iris let go of her hand and spoke.

The children stared at her, and Dahlia's eyes widened as they all got to their feet. Soon, one of them handed Iris a handful of bottle caps. Her sister broke out into all smiles, and Dahlia tightened her grip on her mother's hand.

"Do you see?" her mother murmured.

Dahlia shook her head. "She's nice. Everyone knows Iris is nice."

"That is not what I mean." Morgan shook her head. "She got her way with smiles and approaching the group of children."

"She's not doing it on purpose!" Dahlia insisted.

"Of course not," Morgan snapped. "Iris never plans for such things. But you can. You are her equal. And you could be more."

Dahlia's mouth soured. No, she couldn't. She wasn't Iris. She couldn't just smile at people for bottle caps. She couldn't be nice. The anger inside would never let her. She let go of her mother's hand and crossed her arms, but didn't answer. It was all stupid, anyway. She didn't need to play with bottle caps or marbles or play with girls like Mia Fey.

A quiet that Dahlia learned to fear settled over her mother. For a while, they stood still. Dahlia didn't know what her mother wanted. She wasn't sure anybody would.

"Such a simple thing," her mother said at last. "And you can't even get it right."

Dahlia blanched. She heard those words before. And they were worse than any punishment a disciplinarian could come up with.

Morgan seemed to read her mind. "Come. Into the manor with you. One of the teachers will be waiting."

Dahlia followed her mother without a word, but she dragged her feet. She heard a sweeping sigh, and then her mother scooped her up again.

"One day," Morgan told her. "One day, you will understand. Nothing comes in this world for free, not for you or me."

Dahlia refused to look at her.

Her mother dropped her off in a dimly lit room with no windows. Her only escape was the door she entered. She stood in the center, and for some reason, she remembered the program her father once watched without asking Morgan first. A "nature documentary," her father called it. All she could remember was the lion stalking a gazelle. She could really see the gazelle's wide eyes and hopeless legs most of all.

A woman entered the room and sighed almost immediately. "Really, Dahlia? Do you ever learn?"

_Yes._

The word in her mind surprised her. But she did. The woman had a ruler in her hand. Dahlia's fists had already clenched, but they began to loosen.

"I'm sorry, madam," she found herself saying. "I'm a bad girl."

The woman looked at her in surprise, and Dahlia stood straighter. Morgan was wrong. She did learn. She did.

The fury inside burned until it became as bright as the sun, consuming and violent. She threw away the thoughts of bottle caps and fountain pens and even Mia Fey's magatama.

"I don't mean to," she continued, and her voice cracked at the perfect time. Dahlia marveled at it. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

The teacher's eyes softened. Instead of a spanking, she came and took Dahlia's hand.

"It can be our secret," she said. "Just this once."

For a moment, a gazelle became a lion.

Dahlia smiled.

* * *

TBC


End file.
